The afternoon sun beat down on the Fourth District as Hermes and Justin strolled through the market. Hermes kept his head low, feeling a bizarre, wet coolness against his skin. He caught his reflection in a shop window and paused, squinting at the Mask of Destruction.
He focused his mind, trying to understand the artifact. Suddenly, his vision swam with strange, flickering text:
[Item Identified: Mask of Destruction]
[True Form: Ancient Ego Slime — "The Evil Slime"]
[Status: Mimicry Mode.]
[Note: The Evil God's Ancient Armor is a sentient slime. You are currently wearing a living organism.]
Hermes froze. He felt a sudden, frantic crawling sensation on his cheeks. Wait... a slime? He poked the "mask," and it felt like firm leather, but as he pulled his finger away, a tiny, translucent thread of blue goo stretched for a second before snapping back into place.
"Is it eating my face?!" he screamed internally, his eyes widening behind the eye-slits. He began to rub his cheeks frantically, trying to see if he could peel the "slime" off, but it only clung tighter, vibrating with a low, rhythmic hum that felt disturbingly like a purr.
"It's not a mask... I'm wearing a pet? Or am I the pet?!" He was hopelessly confused. The "Evil God's Armor" was supposed to be legendary plate mail, not a sticky, sentient puddle masquerading as fashion.
"Boss? You're scratching your face quite aggressively," Justin noted, tilting his head.
"It's... nothing. Just a very, very persistent itch," Hermes muttered, his voice distorted by the slime's presence.
Everywhere he turned, the air was thick with whispers. The Priestess had vanished. Hermes felt the weight of his new missions—save the maiden, defeat a cult, start a business. In a fit of irritation, he clenched his fist, accidentally squishing the newspaper into a ball. He tossed it into a trash bin, trying to ignore the fact that his "mask" was currently tickling his ear.
He stopped near a balcony, overhearing two old men. "...kidnapped at District 1 port," one whispered. "Seven masked men in black cloaks. They killed everyone." "The guards?" "Captain Mattia promised to find them, but they had getaway horses. Only a tall, bald man of dark complexion gave chase. He followed them to the exit, but no news since."
Hermes's eyes narrowed. The guards are definitely in on it. The "hypocrite promise" of the Captain was a clear red flag. He didn't care about the woman, but he feared the Deadly Penalty from Stump G. He had to prioritize his safety. He would play the villain and get his revenge later.
"Justin," Hermes said, his voice cold as he adjusted the brim of his hat (and prayed the slime wouldn't start leaking from under it).
The butler immediately pressed a hand to his chest. "Yes, my Don."
"Justin, I don't want to repeat this. From today onwards, I want you to act as my Consigliere. We're both in deep shit, so I want a proper response and advice from you. Understand?"
Justin flinched, then responded with a bow. "As you wish, milord. I'm ready to be in service. I'll take the initiative to bring honor to your name according to your instructions."
The Village Hall
Inside the Village Hall, Ilona was sorting documents. Her smile faded when she saw Hermes and Justin. Hermes was now in a sharp black suit and a long hat, looking every bit the high-class merchant.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Ilona. Do you remember me? It's Aljen," Hermes said, showing the Camelia household emblem before giving a hat-off greeting.
Ilona's forehead crinkled, a vein appearing. "This emblem is rare... you're desperate to use it as a bargain. Mr. Aljen, what do you want from our Chief?"
"Just a business talk, milady," Hermes replied.
Ilona spoke mockingly, "The Chief is busy. Go back later. Or next time."
Justin stepped in, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Milady, the boss wants to speak with your leader. It is more important than your life."
"E-excuse me? How rude!" Ilona hammered the table. "Get out before I have the guards drag you out!"
Hermes gently asked, hiding his trembling hands (partly from anger, partly because the slime was now moving toward his neck), "Milady, if he's busy today, tell me when he has free time?"
She replied with a proud face, "No idea."
Liar. The thought echoed in both Hermes and Justin's minds simultaneously. This wasn't the first time Ilona had stonewalled them. Hermes had attempted to visit the Chief's residence previously, but had only found the twins; to avoid blowing his cover, he had played the role of the kind stranger, entertaining the children while his insides churned with frustration.
Now, watching Ilona's smug composure, a cold chill settled in his chest. Does she know? If she had even a sliver of proof regarding his true identity as the Don of the Archnemesis family, she would already be a "lump of dead meat" at the bottom of the district canal. Yet, reading her face, she seemed to be acting out of petty bureaucratic spite rather than strategic knowledge. Still, her insolence was a debt that needed collecting.
"Ms. Ilona," Hermes said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, resonant tone—assisted by the low hum of the Evil Slime reacting to his temper. "I want to talk with the Chief right now because it is very important. Look at this emblem."
He slammed the Camelia household emblem onto the desk with a crack that echoed through the hall. The slime mask rippled almost imperceptibly, emitting a localized wave of dread. Ilona gulped, her eyes widening as she felt an instinctual urge to flee. The other citizens in the lobby froze, their gazes snapping toward the source of the sound.
"Are you suggesting you have no respect for the household that owns this?" Hermes demanded, leaning in until his masked face was inches from hers. "This is not a request. It is an order."
Ilona's face flushed with humiliation as she felt the eyes of the room on her. She clenched her teeth, her voice trembling slightly. "My apologies, Mr. Aljen. Forgive my... impoliteness. I will ensure such a scene does not happen again. However, a meeting is truly impossible. The Chief is currently in a conference with the district representatives. I cannot say when they will finish."
"Damn it, this brat is really desperate. How annoying," she muttered under her breath, so low she thought no one could hear.
Hermes heard it clearly. He ignored the insult, opting for a tactical retreat. "Then I will wait."
He turned on his heel, his cloak billowing. Justin followed like a silent shadow, and the two took their seats in the vacant chairs near the exit.
A few minutes passed before the heavy front doors swung open. A man in a vibrant green noble merchant suit and a golden dove necklace rushed in. He wore a white cotton cap, looking every bit the educated Victorian gentleman. He bypassed the line and leaned against Ilona's desk with a wide, mischievous grin.
"Good morning, Big Sis Ilona! Quite nice to see you. Am I early today?"
Ilona sighed, though her expression softened with pity. "Richarde, you're late. Again. Do you have any idea how much time has been wasted? Go! Climb the stairs and get into the conference room before the Chief scolds you in front of everyone."
Richarde laughed, adjusting his golden necklace. "C'mon, you know me. The most important figures always arrive last."
"Whatever," she snapped, pointing her pen toward the stairs. "Go now, before the situation gets worse."
"I'm just going to sit there like a statue and listen to reports anyway," Richarde joked. Then, his eyes wandered toward the exit. He pointed a thumb at the two visitors. "By the way, who are those two? Foreigners? They look like they have something interesting in their pockets, unlike my usual clients. I think I'll go have a chat."
"Richarde, don't be stupid!" Ilona hissed, reaching out to tug his sleeve. "Don't you dare touch them! I'm warning you—what the hell are you doing?"
She watched in horror as Richarde ignored her, strolling over to the two men. He stopped in front of Hermes, thrusting a hand out. "Hi! My name is Richarde. What's your name, kid?"
Hermes looked him up and down, scanning the expensive fabric and the arrogant tilt of the man's head. A slow, crescent-moon smile spread across his lips—or rather, the slime mimicked the expression. "My name is Aljen. Nice to meet you."
He shook Richarde's hand with surprising strength.
"Nice name! And you are?" Richarde turned to Justin, expecting another handshake.
Justin remained motionless, his eyes like ice. "Justin, sir. I am the sole butler and loyal servant to my master, Aljen. It is a pleasure."
"A bit cold, eh?" Richarde chuckled, unfazed. "So, where do you guys come from? Kid, you're wearing clothes even fancier than mine. I like your taste. It's a bit rude to ask, but what business brings you here?"
Hermes and Justin shared a brief, knowing glance. They didn't need words; the Consigliere knew exactly what his Don was thinking. This man was a ticket into that meeting.
"We come from the Southern Cimeria Desert," Hermes said, standing up. "I'm a merchant looking to invest my capital in this beautiful village. Believe it or not, the Chief and I are already acquaintances."
Richarde's gaze turned sharp, scanning Hermes's appearance with newfound scrutiny. "Oh, really? Prove it."
Hermes didn't hesitate. He pulled the Camelia emblem from his pocket. Richarde flinched, his playful demeanor momentarily shattering.
"See?" Hermes prodded as the noble merchant fell silent.
Richarde let out a fake cough, trying to regain his composure. "And what business do you have with the Chief? I assume it's private."
Hermes's smile widened, the Mask of Destruction pulsing with a faint, dark light. "Yes, but it doesn't have to be private. You can be part of it too, if you're interested in making a real profit."
Richarde paused, his eyes gleaming with greed and curiosity. The atmosphere in the lobby shifted; the air grew heavy, the temperature seemingly dropping by several degrees. To anyone else, it was just a conversation between a merchant and a local noble merchant, but to those with sensitive instincts, it felt like watching a predator invite another into a trap.
"A profit, you say?" Richarde whispered, leaning in. "Tell me, Aljen... what kind of business requires the Chief's immediate attention and carries the weight of the Camelia name? This village is a nest of vipers; you'll need a guide who knows which ones to charm and which ones to crush."
Hermes felt the Evil Slime beneath his mask vibrate in agreement. He was about to start a business to satisfy the "system," and he had just found his first pawn.
"Oh ho, I like it! I've got an idea," Richarde exclaimed, his eyes sparking with interest. "C'mon, there's no time to talk here. You're quite interesting, kid. I like your style—you talk with pride and seem sharp, even if you are wearing that weird mask. It's rare for anyone to hold the emblem of the house that truly owns this place. And frankly, you seem more educated than my fellow representative, Rafel."
Richarde stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over Hermes's sharp black suit and Justin's immaculate posture. "Your presence might bring a new light to this village. I want to see what you're capable of."
Hermes let out a small, muffled giggle behind the Mask of Destruction, though the sound was distorted by the Evil Slime into something more haunting than humorous. "What an honor. Please, lead the way."
"W-w-wait!" Ilona suddenly cried out, spreading her arms to block the stairs.
Richarde stopped, looking genuinely confused. "What's wrong, Big Sis? I thought you wanted me to join the conference. Why are you blocking my way?"
Ilona took a deep breath, her gaze darting toward Hermes with the same petty suspicion she had shown at the desk. "It is not what you think. A stranger like Mr. Aljen cannot enter the conference without the Chief's approval. He is from another state. We cannot let outsiders learn about our current... situation. He could be a—"
"—a spy? Pff, c'mon," Richarde interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "This kid? Look at him, he's thin. His body looks weak. And his butler is clearly refined; he won't do any harm unless his master is on the brink of disaster. Do they look like a threat? I know you're strict, Sis, but we can't lose face by turning away someone carrying the Camelia emblem. Fate brought them here, and I have a feeling this kid will bring something extravagant to the table. Now, get out of our way."
Richarde gently nudged her aside and began climbing the stairs. Hermes and Justin followed, pausing just long enough to lock eyes with the receptionist. Hermes gave her a sharp, mocking smirk, a direct response to her earlier "No idea" comment. Ilona quickly turned aside and clicked her tongue in a fit of silent rage.
As they ascended, Richarde leaned toward Hermes. "Hey, don't take it personally. She's the Chief's secretary, the receptionist, and she manages the finances and management of this entire hall. She's a proud member of the village, so forgive her if she's rude."
"Don't worry," Hermes replied, his voice calm. "We don't hold a grudge. She's dedicated to her work, and I respect that. If I ever have the chance to hire someone like her, I'd definitely raise her wages."
Richarde giggled. "Kid, I like you! Not in a strange way, you know? I'm straight and looking for a date with a beautiful girl. But I like your attitude."
"I'm straight as well," Hermes laughed, "but I like you too, sir. Your treatment is certainly better than hers."
They reached the heavy oak doors of the conference room. Richarde stopped, his expression becoming uncharacteristically serious as he offered a final warning. "No matter what happens, don't say anything that leaves a bad impression. Remain calm. The people inside... well, they aren't normal. They might act like morons, but don't mind them. Think before you act. If you have a suggestion, just raise your hand and I'll back you up. Got it?"
Hermes nodded. Richarde knocked twice. "Who is it?" a voice boomed.
"It's Richarde, Chief Zamor! I've come to join the meeting as ordered!"
A short silence followed. "You may enter."
Richarde pushed the double doors open with a flourish. "Good morning, everyone! I have arrived!"
"Richarde, I told you not to be late!" Chief Zamor began, but he froze as his eyes landed on the figures behind the noble merchant. He stood up abruptly. "M-M-Mr. Aljen? And Sir Justin? Why are you guys here?"
Hermes scanned the room. Eight people sat at a long table. Richarde quickly moved to his seat next to a brown-haired girl with a short bob. Hermes felt the collective weight of their stares, his body trembling slightly with the pressure of the moment. Stay calm, he told himself. Play the merchant.
"Greetings, Chief Zamor," Hermes said, bowing slightly. "It is nice to see you again. To the honored representatives, it is a pleasure. My name is Aljen, a merchant from the Southern Cimeria Desert. This is Justin, my faithful servant."
The room remained deathly silent. Chief Zamor cleared his throat. "Aah... the honor is ours. Everyone, this is the man I told you about. He saved my children from the demon beast's claws four days ago. He even saved me from an assassination attempt. He is a fellow noble merchant kid, and I have given him my family emblem. They are friends, not hostile like the other mafia families."
Hermes fought the urge to laugh. He looked at Justin, who was standing perfectly still. Saved him? Justin had nearly killed the man in that field. It was entertaining to see how the Chief chose to rewrite history to avoid admitting his own vulnerability to the representatives.
"Anyways," Zamor continued, "it's a surprise to see you here, but I shall express my gratitude by introducing my subordinates. These are the district representatives." He pointed to the man on the far right. "First, meet Mr. Rafel Uno. He represents the First District and is the sole owner of the Neue Fiona Shipyard. He is the protector of our port."
Hermes's mind clicked instantly, correlating this with the gossip he'd heard on the street. The Port of District 1—the site of the kidnapping. He looked at Rafel Uno, the man who theoretically allowed seven cloaked men to butcher bodyguards under his watch. The "Business" objective wasn't the only thing Hermes could settle here; the path to the Priestess had just been handed to him on a silver platter.
The conference room was draped in heavy velvet, the air thick with the scent of expensive tobacco and the tension of a village in crisis. Hermes noticed that while the Chief spoke of "kindness," the representatives were scanning him like wolves weighing a lamb.
Rafel Uno was a thick-necked man with calloused hands hidden under silk, his eyes narrowed as if calculating the price of Hermes's outfit. Next to him, others whispered behind their hands, their gazes darting toward the Camelia emblem still visible on the table. In this room sat the keys to District 3 and the "dark organizations" the newspaper demanded he defeat. The "unorganized gangs" weren't just street thugs; they were the men sitting at this very table, and Hermes had just walked right into their lair.
"Yow, nice to meet ya," Rafel said, giving a casual wave. He narrowed his eyebrows in a sharp, stylized manner—a display of respect that felt more like a challenge than a greeting.
Hermes didn't miss a single detail. Rafel Uno was a third-grade fire mage, capable of wielding up to fourth-tier magic. His hair and eyes were a matching, brilliant red, like polished flaming gems. Dressed in merchant silks with golden cords crossing his chest, he projected the air of a man who owned the horizon. In the "game" Hermes remembered, Rafel was one of the judges who had presided over his death sentence.
"Next is Lady Ylla Ereneus," Chief Zamor continued. "The second district representative and a founding member. Don't let her height fool you; she's quite short-tempered."
"Chief, that's rude! I'm not that kind of woman," Ylla snapped, though she immediately turned to Hermes with a practiced smile and a polite bow. "Hello, Mr. Aljen. The honor is mine."
Ylla was a second-grade water mage and occupied a high spot on Hermes's internal blacklist. Stronger than Rafel in both close combat and long-range tactics, she was a dangerous variable. Despite her petite stature, she was physically striking—donning white-and-gold gothic attire that matched her blonde, "drill-shaped" curls.
"And here is Lady Daliah," Zamor said with a laugh. "She represents the third district. If you want to build a business, it would be a wise decision to have a private chat with her."
Daliah looked up, her blue eyes peeking through long, emo-style brown bangs. She wore a modest Victorian waitress uniform. "Chief, you're making me sound like a villain. Hi, I'm Daliah. It's a pleasure, sir."
Hermes nodded, staring a bit too long as he recalled her "dark nature" hidden behind that gentle smile.
"Oi, don't stare too much, kid. That's my woman," Richarde interjected boldly.
Daliah immediately turned and smacked Richarde's head. "Since when did I become your girl?"
"Ouch! C'mon, since the day we met!"
Zamor chuckled. "Please, Lady Daliah, not in front of the guest. Mr. Aljen, forgive them. They've been like this since childhood. It's hard to believe, but these representatives are all between twenty-three and twenty-five now. When we founded this group five years ago, they were just children, yet they were already powerful beings."
"So, I assume Sir Richarde is the 4th representative?" Hermes asked.
"You're right," Zamor confirmed. "He is the 4th representative and protector of the important warehouses and factories."
As the representatives began to bicker—Rafel calling Ylla a "bitch" and Ylla threatening to show who was more powerful—a heavy, resonant pressure suddenly filled the room.
"Enough," a powerful voice commanded.
It came from an old man in white Greek robes. His long white beard and vague eyebrows made his eyes nearly invisible. Beside him sat two others in similar ancient attire.
"Oh, Mr. Aljen," Zamor said, turning to the elders. "The person who spoke earlier on the left is Elder Wamo, the second eldest among the three elders of Neue Fiona Village. Next to him is Elder Kilo, the youngest. And finally, Elder Damaso, the oldest among them."
"Elder Wamo?" Hermes whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. He was stunned—these characters were total anomalies. Even more disturbing was Richarde; despite his deep knowledge of the game's "original" plot, Hermes had no record of a fourth representative named Richarde.
"""Nice to meet you, Lord Aljen,""" the three elders said in perfect unison, lowering their heads with deep respect.
Hermes felt goosebumps erupt along his arms. These characters were nowhere in the game files he remembered. Also, his mind alarmed him to be careful of Richarde, a character who should not exist in this village.
A dark, villainous smile began to form beneath the Mask of Destruction, hidden from everyone but the Evil Slime clinging to his skin. He felt a thrill of genuine excitement. Behind him, Justin noticed his master's hands trembling behind his waist—not out of fear, but out of a predatory anticipation.
The board had pieces he didn't recognize, which meant the game was finally becoming interesting.